


Before the Fall, Pride

by calicodreaming



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: ...ish, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Heist, I just really like the idea of Nureyev heisting with Buddy and Jet, LIKE JUST, My First Work in This Fandom, Peter is pining but Juno isn't in this, Pining, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Season/Series 02, and for my few and far between readers for other fandoms, be gentle please, gratuitous use of the Peter Nureyev alias generator, his name honestly took me longer than coming up with the damn title, i swear.....this one is getting finished, no promises for the next one but I'M TRYING OK, really - Freeform, so many, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-19 00:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20647928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calicodreaming/pseuds/calicodreaming
Summary: Four months after waking alone in a Hyperion City hotel room, the man with no name stared down the barrel of a gun and wondered what, exactly, his life had amounted to.Or, in which Peter Nureyev ends up pulling off a heist with Buddy and Jet. And then misses his flight to Mars. Because reasons.





	1. Chapter 1

Four months after waking alone in a Hyperion City hotel room, the man with no name stared down the barrel of a gun and wondered what, exactly, his life had amounted to. If anyone would remember _ him _, or just the goods he’d stolen.

Well...one person might remember him.

The thought shot a bitter stab of pain through his heart, right alongside the bloom of warmth in his treacherous soul. Just passing adjacent to thoughts of...that person drew forth poison and obsession in equal measure. He’d promised to leave Mars for good, hadn’t been able to keep that promise. The lady had a draw like a star all his own, dragging the nameless man back and back until he orbited, escaping for days or weeks at a time only to come back to the dusty red rock like it had become a lodestone he couldn’t abandon.

Juno Steel could rot in hell. And the nameless man would rot right alongside him, tucked into the shadows lest the lady step too far from the line of his own right to live. Breaking that cycle seemed almost too much to bear, but eventually he made himself do it. Made himself come up with another alias, another name, became someone else for a while.

Came back to his lodestone. Left again. Got caught up and hated every second of it and still he had _ no name _ because names were more trouble than they were worth; he’d taken a desperate risk and had it thrown in his face over and over and over and over… It was a gift not to be given twice, he’d learned that much, learned what breaking his vow really meant when he laid the most precious thing he had to give at the feet of one stupid, sexy, impossible detective and watched him crush it under his heel.

So, nameless man, what now? There’s a gun in your face, in case you’ve forgotten.

\---------

For his first two months off Mars, Alecto Jade had thrown himself into his work with a furious kind of focus. Thieving his way across the galaxy, never stopping on one planet longer than it took to finish a job. Just the way he’d been doing it for years.

It’d never felt so empty.  
  
Names and aliases went by so quickly he had to start recycling them. They started getting less elegant for several jobs, completely unremarkable. Nothing to remember him by, just the things he’d spirited away. He buried his moral compass as deep as it would go, considering it had gotten him into this whole sorry mess to begin with.

On Pluto, he found a man with strong hands and empty eyes to forget a few nights with, leaving with bruises but no regrets. Ivory Romanov just wanted something fast and dirty, and his lovers had never left him wanting for that. He let that identity carry him out of the Solar planets, roaming as far as his quick fingers and sharp smile would get him on ships and crews. 

For two months after that, Mordred Crown got involved in a syndicate brawl across two systems, playing both sides until he found himself tied in a barren room with his hands plas-tied behind his back and a bloody mouth. Two furious thugs tried and failed to beat critical information out of him, gotten fed up; one of them drew a gun. He’d begun wondering if his story ended there when a sudden commotion at the door suggested otherwise. Blaster fire, the sound of wood splintering, and then a big man with hard black eyes strode right in and incapacitated both thugs while utterly ignoring the half-dozen shallow wounds on his sides and arms.

If Mordred had still possessed a heart-- and if he hadn’t already known his savior wasn’t interested-- he might have fallen a little bit in love. As it was he’d left it in a hotel room in Hyperion City, so he smiled at Jet Siquliak with something a little sharper and a little shallower in his eyes. Running a tongue over his teeth, he assured himself they were all there, although a couple seemed a bit loose. He’d have to pay a visit to a clinic. Teeth were beyond his scope.

The big man took a few moments to ensure there wouldn’t be any more interference for a few minutes and then moved behind Mordred; he heard the hum of a plasma cutter and then his hands came free. 

“There is a spaceship waiting at Dock Seven. Can you run?” Jet still had a voice like bourbon over gravel, deep and calm as an Earth river. Morded took a bare moment to mentally take stock of his injuries while he rubbed at his wrists to get feeling back in his hands and stood.

“Ask me nicely and I can do a great many things, my dear knight.” His teeth flashed in that sharp grin again, but nothing answered on Jet’s usually impassive face. In fact, the big man had a finger to his ear, listening to what Mordred assumed must have been covert comms before he nodded and gestured to Mordred.

“This way. We must move quickly. Stay behind me.” And they were off.

He’d...forgotten the thrill of working with someone. Jet handed him a blaster off one of the downed thugs, and while Mordred would have preferred a knife-- he wasn’t much of a shot-- it felt nice to have something to defend himself in his hands. It was exhilarating, truth be told, and as they stumbled into the hold of the ship Mordred felt the wildness of his grin and thought maybe, just maybe, he could start moving on.

The escape into space itself wasn’t without hiccups, but they cleared atmo and started burning their way out of the system with the kind of skill only someone used to these kinds of heists could manage. They made it past the outlying beacons and went dark, letting the void of space hide them as they regrouped.

Mordred unbuckled himself from the safety restraints holding him in one of the panic seats along the curving hull of the cargo bay, letting Jet lead him through the unfamiliar ship’s metal ports in a fairly straightforward path to...a living room. Utterly incongruous against the metal grating over wires and cables of the narrow halls they’d taken to get here. Comfortable, homey even. Mordred barely restrained a laugh.

“Like it, darling? I do enjoy my comforts.” This voice, feminine, cut across his mirth like a warm knife, drawing his attention with the kind of innate magnetism most people would kill for and very few possessed. And the woman attached to it was equally singular, striking and magnetic and...well, he knew her.  
  
“My, my, Buddy Airinko. I admit you have me at a disadvantage. I was unaware you were operating again.” He folded his legs as he took a seat on the elegant couch, lips curling into a familiar smile. Buddy had actually been one of his heroes, back when he’d first started in this business, right up until she’d vanished.

“Yes, well, time happens to all of us, darling. Now, I know you are currently operating under the moniker ‘Mordred Crown,’ but I think we both know that isn’t your real name and,” a single finger came up to forestall his protest, her perfectly-manicured nail sparkling in the ship’s overhead lights, “I do not believe I have any reason to ask for it. That being said, I _ do _ need to know what you would _ like _ to be called while you are working with us. If you’d like to, that is. My friend and I did come quite a long way to get you, but I’m not one to force anybody into service they aren’t inclined to step into themselves.”

The croon of her voice slid along his fraying nerves and Mordred-- for now-- sighed and leaned back, hiding a wince as it pulled on some strained muscles. Not well enough, apparently.

“Darling, would you bring a medical scanner and a kit? I think our colleague requires a little attention.” Her lips pursed around the words, hair hiding half her face all the while, but Mordred could respect a person’s need for secrets. And he liked knowing where he stood, which he didn’t, at the moment, but at least he could see the large man who’d come to his rescue gathering the requested items with methodical precision before bringing them over to him.

“Please hold still. This should only take a few moments, and then we can tend to any wounds you have sustained.” Clearly, these two knew each other well, but Mordred couldn’t pin down exactly how well, and it annoyed Mordred that he couldn’t place it. But he was cycling through names and aliases, deciding what to go by, whether he could safely use one he’d already created or whether he’d need a new one.

“And you, my gallant rescuer?” While he spoke, Mordred sat still, letting the man run the scanner over him, listening to its little beeps. “And as I recall, I am not the only one with wounds to tend. Shall I reciprocate?”

Damn. No rise at all. The big man simply looked at the readout from the scanner and opened the medkit, drawing out a quick-stitch machine not unlike the one he’d used on…

That thought vanished quickly, buried under an avalanche of harsh denial. He could feel Buddy’s eyes on him, assessing, but he kept his thoughts to himself. She had no reason to know about his involvement with...that case, and he wouldn’t bring it up at all unless it became relevant.

Once he’d been stitched and patched and medicated to Jet’s approval, Buddy gently advised him to go get himself fixed up and the man excused himself. Mordred watched him go with appreciation, enjoying the clean lines he made as he left. 

“He’s not interested, darling.” The words were conversational, drawing Mordred back to the woman who seemed to be operating the show. “Now, to business. Jet and I require a third colleague for our next job, and he recommended you. You’re very good, and the only reason we were able to track you is that my compatriot recognized your work.” Buddy’s lips curved in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eye and Mordred leaned in, carefully, to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Very well. What shall I be stealing for you, my dear?” His teeth flashed again, disarming and warm. Buddy wasn’t falling for it.

“Not quite yet. I’d like your agreement first. Your work speaks for itself, but unfortunately that does sometimes include spiriting away the goods for yourself, and we can’t have that.” Her gaze sharpened and Mordred laughed.

“My, you do drive a hard bargain, Ms. Airinko. As you wish. I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine.” A touch of Rex Glass’s unctuousness, very carefully applied; he couldn’t let himself think of that persona too much. It would serve him well enough, but he couldn’t take it on again for...his own reasons.

That unnerving smile curled across Buddy Airinko’s lips, the one that said she knew exactly what was going through his mind and expected him to be on his best behavior. A preliminary warning, perhaps, that she wouldn’t be taken for a ride. But she had an inherent warmth to her, a magnetism totally her own that drew Mordred in despite his best efforts not to be. It reminded him of…

_ Stop _ . At the very least she did _ not _ remind him of Miasma, and _ that _ mattered. He wasn’t keen on getting tortured again, nor on getting a laser bolt through his skull out in the middle of the Martian desert. 

“Thank you, darling. I’d get it all in writing but somehow I don’t think that’s your game.” Those arresting eyes glinted as she swirled her glass, watching him. “I suppose it _ would _ be best to let you think it over. I can give you this much, at least, although I won’t be answering too many questions. How much do you know about the Board of Fresh Starts?”

Hmm. Interesting. Mordred paused, considering. Anxiety gripped his stomach for a moment; he carefully smoothed it away and schooled his expression. Lips pursed in thought, he let his fingers drop to tap against the table in front of him.

“Too little, I’m afraid, apart from the fact their clumsy medical slavery system only works because people are desperate to get away from the Outer Rim.” More than that, honestly; he’d have fallen victim, too, if he hadn’t been _ quite _ so good at falsifying documents. “Something about...radiation sickness, I believe, and ongoing treatment for it?”

“Very good.” Buddy’s voice came out a purr. “They use a special bacterial culture in a wrist filtration unit to keep affected individuals alive, but at a cost. People buy those bracelets with their lives, ‘serving’ the Board until they’ve paid off the debt. Some people even call the bracelets debtors’ tags, because of course it’s nearly impossible to pay the debt.” At that point her lips twisted in distaste. Whatever Buddy’s faults, she clearly didn’t hold with the indentured servitude of the Board’s debtors. Mordred nodded.

“Now, the source of that bacterial culture is a closely-guarded secret, which means of course that any thief worth their fingers knows about it.” A whispery sigh slid past her lips. “And I think that’s all I will tell you tonight, darling. I’m going to retire to my rooms now. My friend will show you to yours. In the morning, if you feel you’d like to work with us, I’d like you to present me with whatever name and persona you plan on using for the job. If you agree, you’ll be paid one third your final cut, with the other two thirds to be delivered once we have our mark in hand. If you don’t, we’ll set a course for an unrelated system and let you go on your way.”

She rose with calculated grace, steady and in one motion. Only a practiced eye would catch the slight stiffness to it, the way she carried herself so carefully, but Mordred had made an art out of observing people. It just...it would have seemed rude to point it out. Instead, he rose with her, reaching for her hand.

“And what, precisely, is my cut to be? I’d like to ask for forty percent, rather than thirty-three.” Better to get the haggling out before he got to work on an identity, although he had several spinning through his mind already. Buddy looked at him, measuring, and then took his hand.

“Forty percent, then, and your cut depends on you, darling. I’m quite willing to pay you conventionally; we’ve budgeted thirty thousand credits for you, currently, although of course if we have more to show for it at the end of the job you’ll receive your portion of that in addition to what we’ll have paid you already. But if credits aren’t what you’re after-- and with a track record like the one I’ve seen already, I doubt it is-- we can discuss logistics once I know you’re with us. For now, I’m willing to take you wherever you want to go as a gesture of good faith.” Her grip tightened a little, a warning, and then she withdrew.

“Fair enough. I’ll put some thought to it and get back to you in the morning. There’s just...one more thing. I understand the Board of Fresh Starts operates primarily on Mars. Is that...where we’re going?” He’d made a promise, after all. One to...him, and the same to himself. The idea of returning, of breaking that promise, even if he’d done so again and again...

“It does, for the most part. They’ve offices on other solar planets, of course, but to answer your question, no. Not for the first part of the job. We’ll be going to Venus.” There was a question in her eyes Mordred wasn’t willing to answer. He simply nodded and steadied himself with a breath, trying to gloss over the relief which flooded him at dodging Mars (for now) and its...associations.

“Very well. I haven’t been to Venus in some time. You’ll have to catch me up.” He flashed another smile then, hiding his hurt, and Buddy Airinko raised her elegantly-shaped brow but didn’t comment. 

“In the morning, darling. I’m quite tired, now. I’ve had a long day and I’d like to relax before we settle in. My friend will see you to your room.” And just like that, he was dismissed. Mordred found he couldn’t be too miffed about it; he barely hid the way he swayed on his feet as Buddy turned away from him, taking measured steps to another port in the wall. “Good night, Mordred. I look forward to working with you.”

He watched her leave, wasn’t surprised when another voice spoke up beside him.

“Come. Your room is this way.” Jet had returned, waiting quietly for Buddy to finish discussing the job with Mordred before making himself known. Mordred could appreciate that; he fell into step behind the man without complaint.

“This ship is quite incredible, really. Zephyr class, if I’m not mistaken? But with custom modifications. Beautiful work. Might I inquire as to its origin?” Small talk, but he _ was _ curious. You didn’t make a career out of master thievery in space without generating a healthy appreciation for the vessels which ferried you through the void.

Unfortunately, the big man wasn’t intent on talking. He pointed out necessary directions as they went-- evacuation pods, cargo bay, restrooms-- but otherwise left Mordred guessing. A challenge, then. The schematics he built in his head as they went certainly suggested Zephyr-class, potentially Ionian make. Perhaps Ganymede. He’d have to get a closer look for a better idea.

“We are here. Please place your hand on the pad.” Jet gestured to the palm-sized screen by the door, waiting patiently for Mordred to oblige. Which Mordred wasted no time in doing, along with a winsome smile.

“Of course, my dear friend. I assume this is a standard locking procedure for the ship?” For effect he raised both brows while he waited for the security pad to register his palm-print, warming under his hand as it did.

“It is. We will key you in for other necessary restricted areas of the ship tomorrow. For now, I suggest you sleep.” There was a faint thread of exhaustion in Jet’s usually clipped and precise words, a tiny slur Mordred only caught because he’d worked with him on several occasions. He frowned but chose not to comment; Jet could and would take care of himself.

For the moment he simply smiled and shrugged, lifting his hand from the pad as the door slid open with a soft hiss. The room inside looked...well, like several other personal bunks he’d taken on ships over the last twenty or so years. Nothing special.

A yawn surprised him. Mordred quickly covered his mouth, hoping Jet hadn’t taken it as a dismissal. Judging by the focus in his eyes, he hadn’t.

“There is a small bathroom attached to your room. It has the necessary facilities and a shower. The shower is timed to seven minutes, but you may select the temperature before you step in and you will not have to wait for it to adjust. Good night.” 

“...good night.” He wanted to say more, didn’t want to sleep alone, but...well, the man was already walking away, and he knew Jet wouldn’t be interested.

He wasn’t _ really _ the man Mordred wanted anyway, although that was something he only admitted once he’d settled on the bunk, the door locked securely and a low red light glowing near the bathroom door. Handsome, yes. Sexy, certainly. Intelligent, despite his forthright manner and tendency to just ignore questions he did not wish to answer. But he wasn’t…

He wasn’t Juno.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter settles in, plans a heist, and the party gets started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a note, I do switch between Peter's aliases freely in this chapter based on who he's performing in the moment. Therefore, anyone I'm referring to as Peter, Felix, or Antoni are all in reference to the same character.

Sleep proved as elusive as it ever had these past few months, and ultimately the nameless man sat up and curled into himself on his bunk, staring at the wall, letting the past consume him for a little while. If there were tears, well, there was no one around to see him, and his shipmates had been so kind as to provide him with his very own wash room. He could touch up his makeup without either of them being any the wiser, and as he did he thought about who he wanted to be on this ship.

Given the circumstances, Felix felt he’d accomplished quite a lot in a spare eight hours as the ‘morning’ of the ship rolled around. He was good at disappearances, of course, but really the whole trick to disappearing was the _ distraction _ . Smoke and mirrors. Names and identities. Alecto had been _ angry _, Mordred dreadfully...well, morbid. Time for something rather more positive, he thought, and better suited to this pair of miscreants who’d sought him out. Without knowing the job itself he had little to go on for what might be required, but a plucky and suave thief seemed just the thing. A chameleon, a familiar face-- or lack thereof-- to wear.

He also had very little past to speak of. Felix Mink was charming, Venusian, gullible and guileless. By appearances, of course. Felix preferred it that way. If people didn’t take you seriously, they wouldn’t see you coming. But that was for planet-side, of course; on the ship Felix had a little more substance. He would buckle down for chores without complaint, listen intently and give good advice; he would make nice with these people because, quite frankly, he wanted to.

Hard to say no to one of your early heroes asking you to join her on a job.

Buddy Airinko only smiled as Felix let himself into the kitchen. Her slender fingers curled gracefully around a plain white coffee cup, somehow making it appear more delicate in the doing, but she didn’t sip. She just watched Felix, who in turn poured his own cup of personal black poison and then thoroughly adulterated it with add-ins. When he settled at the table, it was something that might once have resembled coffee, but now had become little more than the suggestion of the thought of it, given over more to milk and sugar and spices than anything else.

“Good morning, Ms. Airinko. I trust you slept well?” Flashing her one of his most congenial smiles, Felix lifted his mug and took a long drink from it. He licked at his lips as he set it down again, and then reached a hand across the table as if to shake Buddy’s. “However, I feel I must revisit my manners. I failed to introduce myself yesterday. I am Felix Mink, and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Single visible eye burning with a kind of mirth that curved Buddy’s lips into an elegant smile beneath her flaming hair, the woman took his hand and shook it firmly.

\----------------------

“So, darling, I hope you’ve settled in. It’s time to get started.” Buddy leaned forward, bringing up a display on a screen of light which rotated before them to show a floating mansion over a city of gardens and spires. Felix recognized the pretty glitter of Tempescairn, a resort city on Venus to which flocked the rich and famous and pretty useless upper echelon of galactic society. He’d been there once or twice, specifically for those kinds of marks; they almost made it easy.

He had the feeling this visit would be entirely different again.

The image shifted, showing a single phial of some sort of glowing compound. Carefully stoppered. Organic, then, judging by the packaging. Felix leaned forward thoughtfully, steepling his fingers. Buddy had yet to say anything, letting the screen do the talking for a moment, and as the silence stretched Felix casually reached forward to ‘pluck’ at the screen, returning to the mansion so he could scroll through what was shown of the floor plan.

It was oddly incomplete. Even the Kanagawa mansion had been _ thoroughly _ mapped, and while most of that made sense given what the Kanagawas did for a living, every crime family needed little nooks and crannies to hide in. Case in point: the closet he’d located on the way to Cecil’s lair when he and…

Ah. Careful, Felix.

But the point was that this blueprint was sketchy at best, and that drew a line between Felix’s brows. He glanced at Buddy, one of those elegant brows rising as he twisted the mansion in his palm.

“Forgive me for starting with questions so early in the game, my dear leader, but how are we to successfully break into a location about which we know precious little?” Still, a little smile softened the words. He certainly didn’t intend to put her on the spot, after all. 

“That’s the point, darling. Nazzareno Atlantis-- you might know him better by his moniker ‘Silvercoin’-- has a habit of keeping his secrets to himself.” Buddy’s fingers flicked through the hologram, bringing up an image of the man himself. Felix narrowed his eyes.

Aquiline nose, thin lips, eyes so green they cut like emeralds. Dusky skin and pale hair, strong jaw, high cheekbones. Silvercoin was striking, hard to miss. Felix knew _ of _ him, of course, but had never had the pleasure-- or displeasure-- of making his acquaintance. 

Following his escapades on Mars, Felix hadn’t really ever intended to, his involvement in Rim syndicate wars be damned.

“I take it the plan is to relieve him of one or more of these secrets?” At that, Felix reached forward and brought back the image of the phial, humming a little in his throat. “I take it this is the bacterial culture you mentioned last night?”

“Indeed it is. I could bore you with the official name, but it is known in the Cerberus Province and to those who manufacture debtors’ tags as the Cure Mother. The Board of Fresh Starts on Mars receives limited shipments from Earth on a semi-annual basis. Their delivery method is modeled after the Utgard Express, which makes stealing the Cure Mother _ exceedingly _ difficult, but…”

Her voice faded, a difficult feat in and of itself, but for Felix it vanished under a wall of white noise. Memories flashed; he saw again the muzzle of Valencia’s gun pressed hard to the back of a short, scrappy detective. Felt the distinct panic that one wrong step would end up with a hole smoking through Juno’s spine. Relief at finding something to fool them with; exhilaration at the escape.

Gunshots muffled through a door. Juno had looked like death as he stumbled through that door, and Peter had been so _ happy _ to see him alive he’d smiled over Engstrom’s shoulder, nearly slipped and let the crafty old man loose.

Jump, roll, explosion; guns and a strange ultimatum and _ don’t give up, Juno. _

“...rling, are you all right?” Fingers lightly touched the back of his hand; Felix startled back, hand reflexively reaching for a knife hidden in a wrist sheath. A strong hand closed over his arm before he could do more than twitch.

“It is only Buddy. You became distracted while we discussed the details of the Cure Mother delivery. Are you still with us, Felix Mink?” Dazedly, Felix turned to look at Jet Siquliak, past and present crashing uncomfortably together. He nearly said something stupid, some quip about the damn car, and only a sharp click of his teeth saved him.

“My apologies. How...how rude of me. Please, Buddy, continue.”

\----------------------

As it turned out, the Cure Mother _ had _ been stolen. The purpose of their...relocation service was to recover the Cure Mother from the thief and ‘return’ it to the Board of Fresh Starts. For a nominal fee, of course. 

Hence, Venus. So far Buddy knew that Silvercoin had the Cure Mother and that it was most likely somewhere in his mansion-cum-mob-base in Tempescairn, with the assumed motive of setting up his own radiation treatment operation.

Understandably, the Board of Fresh Starts was a little annoyed about it.

First order of business: case the joint. For this Jet was well-suited; Felix would ingratiate himself with Nazzareno and give the team an in. Easy work, for Felix. He was likeable even on his worst days, a little too genuine and a little too nice. But he got things done, which Silvercoin liked in his people, and since Felix knew a friend of a friend he had a fast track to the top.  
  
And Buddy? Buddy was going to mingle with high society, find out who was talking to whom, who might be involved in the deals, who they needed to target. And, if a few pretty things and expensive items went missing along the way, well, the heist needed funding, didn’t it?  
  
They spent the two-week journey coming up with their plan to get in, sketching out how they’d recover the Cure Mother with the information they had. Entry and exit. Contingencies. Personas. Marks. Research, research, research.

Felix fit in well with Jet and Buddy. They worked out a rhythm on the ship for showers and chores, pulling off several small thefts to get them moving along the way. Halfway through a ridiculous plan involving a dinner party and a staged emergency, Felix realized he was having _ fun _. How long had it been since he’d actually enjoyed himself in the company of others like this?

...best not to answer that question.

By the time they arrived on Venus, docking in an out-of-the-way port an hour outside of Tempescairn, they all had their roles down. Felix became Antoni Rush, an up-and-coming entrepreneur _ just _ on the wrong side of the law. Since every bureaucrat everywhere had wet dreams about mountains of paperwork, Felix handled their entry papers, manufactured passports and visas, fashioned identities airtight enough to last the three of them an entire year on Venus if they so chose.

They only needed a few weeks.

He had them put up in a suite of rooms at the Halcyon Peak, just on the edge of the inner circle of hotels and casinos that made up the heart of Tempescairn. A literal circle of spires, a spiked crown for one of the tallest peaks in the Maxwell Montes with a beautiful view of the central volcanic cone. The elite moneybags who vacationed here had nightly lava-viewing parties, the incredible vistas of the rivers of lava snaking over the surface of the tempestuous planet as good an excuse as any for orgies, drugs, and showing off just how many creds they could throw away on priceless jewels and handmade clothes.

Nazzareno Atlantis reigned from the background of these events, and they needed into his circle to lift the Cure Mother from his tenacious grip.

\----------------------

“...and then, of course, I had an entire _ shipment _ of peepers ready to sell to an exotics zoo out on Kepler-16B-- no idea _ why _, of course, I don’t ask those questions-- and Martian customs suddenly decides I haven’t dotted all my i’s on a handful of their two hundred forms!” A swell of laughter rose as Antoni shuffled his hand, grinning across the table a young blonde with wide doe eyes and rubies set into his teeth. It wasn’t a good look, but Antoni wasn’t about to tell him that. He was entirely too sweet.

“So what did customs do with your twenty-five peepers?” A cool voice at his shoulder, collected and in control. Antoni took his time flipping cards between his lithe fingers, watching the party at his table shift subtly, gravitating toward the man at his back. Only then did he glance up and give a start, as if he’d only just registered his newest listener.

“Oh! Forgive me, I may have lost my place. Please, would you like to sit, mister…?” He started to get up, smiling with just a touch of nervous energy, cards flying from his hands. The man’s emerald eyes gleamed, too cold above his soft smile. He shook his head.

“No, no. Forgive me for disturbing you. Shall I take my leave, or…?” The lightest touch of fingertips on his shoulder. Antoni carefully tucked his smile away, turning instead wide eyes and parted lips on the prey he’d drawn in hook, line, and sinker.

“O-of course not!” He gave the man a nervous laugh, fidgeting with his cuffs while the people at the table stared. How could he _ not know? _

More to the point, he _ did _ know, which made pretending that much easier. Perhaps there was something calculating in Silvercoin’s hard eyes, but only a very select handful of people had seen through Felix’s lies in the past. Usually that hadn’t ended well, one way or another, but it had made him redouble his efforts.

And the double-barrel kick to his heart thinking about one of those individuals certainly helped him feign more genuine anxiety, although in this case it would more rightly have been anxiety and concern that he’d upset someone. Antoni practically fluttered from his chair, offering it to the hard-eyed man he pretended not to know, just a gullible and guileless Venusian fool with too much money and not enough reality to check against. The not-actually-false story about the peepers finally reached its conclusion to the guffaws of the table, and Antoni leaned casually against the edge of the table until Silvercoin pointedly told someone _ else _ to move so that he could sit.

The rest of the evening couldn’t have gone better if Antoni had planned it. Which, fair, he _ had _ , but even so. By the end of the night he’d secured a card allowing him into Silvercoin’s mansion and a personal invitation to come see him in a couple of days about some goods that needed to be moved off-planet. When Felix regrouped with Buddy and Jet at the end of the night, it was with some celebratory champagne and a chance to plan a little further.  
  
Jet brought more information on the layout of the mansion. Exits, potential routes for shipping, people he’d noted coming and going...good information, but they needed to get inside.

\----------------------

Two weeks later, Felix sat in Silvercoin’s office, off to one side and watching him maneuver a client with expert skill. He had to hand it to the man: he was ruthless, dauntless, and difficult to get the upper hand on. When the client left, Felix slowly clapped and approached Nazzareno’s desk, a satisfied smile curling his lips.

“I have to say, I wouldn’t want to be in that woman’s position. If you’ll pardon my crude language, I rather think you have her over a barrel.” He sounded delighted, slightly bored, thoroughly impressed; he was rewarded with a minute smile beneath Silvercoin’s cold green eyes. The man turned to appraise him, plucking a slim cigarette from a star-emblazoned case as he leaned forward to hold it to Antoni’s proffered lightstick. Fragrant smoke curled from his lips as he stood, collecting the papers the woman had left.

“In a sense. Small prey, in the grand picture, but these connections make my business run more smoothly.” Silvercoin turned his gaze on Antoni, appraising as he leaned his hips back against the desk. “And you? Did you get everything you needed from her?”

Antoni laughed and held up a slim silver card between two fingers. “You mean this? Simple, really. She gave it up on her way in the door.” 

He’d picked her pocket as she’d fidgeted in the door, ushering her inside with a warm hand on her back. Antoni had quickly become Silvercoin’s go-to man for putting his clients at ease, making the mafioso’s job eminently easier. Silvercoin himself didn’t have that grace, habitually put people on edge. They made a good team, all things considered. For the moment, the man he’d ingratiated himself with laughed a little and shook his head, tapping ashes off his cigarette into an obsidian ashtray on his desk.  
  
“I really should have known. You’ve got quick fingers, Antoni.” Silvercoin’s eyes narrowed. “I trust you keep them to yourself when you’re around me.”

Antoni gave Nazzareno his best smile, the one that looked like he was trying a little too hard to look innocent. A smile he knew Nazzareno would see through and congratulate himself on having done so.

“Of course. I’m not in the habit of creating difficulties where there need be none.” He handed the card to Nazzareno; there was already a copy in his pocket. It paid to have a scanner in his comms.

“Good. Good. Now, Antoni, I’d like to discuss a job with you.” Nazzareno’s tone modulated and his fingers reached down to his desk, seeking a little button Antoni knew for a fact activated a jammer and locked down the office. He allowed a little panic to show in his eyes and took a step back, keeping his hands where Silvercoin could see them.

“A job? I have to say, I’m flattered. I would have thought a man of only two weeks’ work would need to work a little harder for your trust.” Nervous laughter bubbled up his throat.

“It would be, if I didn’t have the best research team in the galaxy working for me.” Silvercoin hummed and seated himself on his desk, cigarette dangling from his slim fingers. He crossed his knees and tilted his head, a self-satisfied smirk settling where the cold smile had rested before. “Now, Antoni, I think it’s time for a little honesty. You’ve only existed for something like six months, and we can’t have that.”

A beat of silence.

“P-pardon?” Here came the tricky part. Felix had _ created _ those holes in Antoni’s backstory, left them open for exploitation. What he needed was for Silvercoin to take the bait. For the moment, he rubbed his palms on his hips, trying to look like he was checking his pockets.

“Now, now. Don’t play coy. I find it _ incredibly _ interesting that Antoni Rush can’t be found on any real census in the galaxy. Or, I suppose, an Antoni Rush who fits your description. There are, if you care to know, exactly one hundred sixty-four individuals by that name currently alive. Five fit your age and physical description. Two are in prison, one is a drug-addled half-wit on Saturn, one is happily settled on the outer-rim, and one is currently completing the paperwork to register as Nia Rush.” He gestured with the fingers holding the cigarette, as though tipping an invisible hat.

“O-oh, that is...fascinating. Perhaps the records were destroyed in an ill-timed EMP on Mercury. I can assure you, I…”

“Don’t worry, Antoni. I don’t wish to expose you.” This time, Silvercoin’s smile showed teeth. “I just want to use you.”

Got him. Felix whined a little in his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, biting his lip and hunching his shoulders just a little. What was the phrase? ‘Over a barrel?’

“All...all right. How can I be of service?” It took months of practice to get that wobble in his voice just right, that vulnerable glimmer to his eye. 

“I don’t like flying blind, to start with. You’re going to tell me who you are, and once you’ve been vetted, we’ll discuss the job.” Nazzareno shifted, pinning Antoni-- Felix-- with a look that said if he didn’t vet, he’d be leaving this office in a bag. Antoni swallowed.

“I...ah...yes. Ah. Sh...shah. Perseus...Perseus Shah.” An identity he’d taken careful time crafting, tracking down candidates and papers, leaving a trail that would take him here with a little creativity.

“From?”

“M...Mars. Olympus Mons.” A defeated slump to his shoulders, his eyes skating to Nazzareno’s chest rather than meeting those cold green eyes.

They waited in silence. Felix-- Perseus, now-- shifted uncomfortably on his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets before abruptly pulling them out again. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, tried to relax.

Two minutes.

“Very well. A private investigator...and a thief. How fascinating.” Silvercoin chuckled, taking a long drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out. “You’ve got quite the passport, Perseus. All over the galaxy. A couple of spectacular scores.” His lips pulled into that smirk again. “I could use someone like you. What _ really _ brings you to Venus?”

And now the time to really gamble. Perseus cleared his throat, fidgeting with his hands in front of him before taking a deep breath.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Board of Fresh Starts?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep to a weekly update schedule. We'll see how that goes. Shit hit the fan for me, but I do want to get this story done before 10/20. With any luck I'll have another fic going by then. So...we'll see?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the prelude to a longer one I'm planning to write. I'M GOING TO FINISH IT, DAMMIT. Also what the fuck are titles I don't know her (yikes)
> 
> This is...a bit of a character study. Me exploring Nureyev's thoughts and motivations, trying to dig under the LAYERS AND LAYERS AND FUCKING LAYERS that are his character. I may or may not have binge-listened to the entire Juno Steel story...a few times...


End file.
